[He lets her take his hand, privately surprised by her insistence to do so -- his eyes open, landing first on hers around his, then on Poison's face. She is so... adamant about his personhood, despite knowing what he is, seeing what he has become as compared to who he used to be. As someone who has spent his life despising the undead and all they represent, he cannot fathom it; he knows he would not feel the same, were he in her shoes.
He shakes his head a fraction of an inch, the barest of movements.]
They do not. And for a time, neither did I.
[His fingers tighten in her grasp as he acknowledges her attempt to console him. If he's honest, it is working, bit by bit.]
no subject
He shakes his head a fraction of an inch, the barest of movements.]
They do not. And for a time, neither did I.
[His fingers tighten in her grasp as he acknowledges her attempt to console him. If he's honest, it is working, bit by bit.]